


Said That You Loved Me

by untilthepainstarts



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Drugging, Forced Alcohol Consumption, Gang Rape, Guns, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape, Slurs, Threats of Violence, Victim Blaming, gendered slurs, referenced waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilthepainstarts/pseuds/untilthepainstarts
Summary: When Galloway’s last surviving footsoldiers decide they want to teach you a lesson, they teach you a lesson.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Said That You Loved Me

**Author's Note:**

> Directly follows this scene (warning - contains waterboarding): https://untilthepainstarts.tumblr.com/post/613376721352278016/

“Now here's a familiar situation. Say you have an associate right? Some bigshot lawyer or whatever. He doesn't have his tribute, in fact he's blown it all—some horses can't be un-bet on. Some lines can't be un-snorted. Some whores can't be un-fucked. It's fuckin _donezo._ But if you don't get the boss his money, _you're_ fuckin donezo.

“And you can fix it, you've got the means. But you're frustrated. You're itching to blow off some steam. But you can't kill him, 'least not yet—'cause he does good work, or he's fucking the boss' wife on the weekends, or whatever. He's just a little cog in the machine, that you need to put back in its place.

“So tell me, Pierce. How do you put him back in his place?”

 _Never did_ that, _fucker_ , Graham thought. He glared, baring his teeth around the barrel of the gun, trying to force it from his mouth once again. The gun shoved in deeper, almost pressing to the back of his throat. He tried not to gag. Failed.

Murphy grinned, lips curling up past his gums. “Guess you can’t answer that. Layton?”

The sound of a belt buckle being undone. “It's simple, Murph.” The belt pulled taut with a snap. “You teach him a lesson... that when he fucks you, you fuck him. You fuck him dry.”

The pistol withdrew, and before Graham could speak he was struck across the temple, hard enough to put him out.

-

He came around slowly. Muscles weighted. Head spinning. Lying on the floor… no. Table. It was a chair, and now it was a table. Graham groaned, blinking, vision blurry. 

“Never pegged you for anything but straight as a rail. Goes to show I guess.”

“Maybe pretends he’s a girl when he fucks him?”

“Lemme go,” Graham slurred, rolling his head to the side. 

Glass against his lips. A bottle, tipped into his mouth, and a strong liquor splashed against his tongue and teeth. Graham made to struggle, but the heel of a hand shoved into his jaw kept his mouth shut. 

He heaved, coughing, his body trying to force it out on instinct. Tried to move his arms, but they were fastened above his head. Almost spread-eagle, if it weren’t for the fact that thick loops of rope were securing his thighs to his calves. Bit into his skin.

He had been stripped entirely bare.

“Swallow.” 

Graham shot the alcohol out through his nose, and straight into the man’s face.

Hurt like a _bitch_ , but the look on Murphy's face had been worth it. Murphy pulled his hand back, slapping Graham across the face—once, twice, three times. The bottle was tipped between his lips again, and this time a second hand pinched his nose shut.

“Swallow it.”

“C’mon, Pierce—you wanna have a good time too, huh? Bet it gets lonely down here. We’re all just gonna have ourselves a good time.”

That chicken-choked laugh, again. “Yeah. A drowning and a good fuck, right?”

He ran out of air, and had no option but to swallow. Shook his head, when the hand still wouldn’t let go.

“You done it? Good." Release. 

Graham hacked, the drink having stung his already raw throat. He couldn’t fathom why they were force-feeding him alcohol—probably just fucked up themselves, a drunkard’s whims. Another compulsory swig, and he swallowed, but this time he could faintly taste something bitter in amongst the booze. Whatever it was, it slid down the back of his throat.

"The fuck was that? Hey," he rasped, eyes darting from man to man, not resting on one for long. He saw Mackenzie-Smith toss aside a pill bottle, and then another coughing fit overcame him, robbing him of hearing and vision.

Between spasms, Graham tried to buck whoever was climbing on top of him, eyes streaming. When he managed to stop his lungs from trying to vacate his body, Graham realised that the weight on top of him was _Lev_. His partner had been guided to sit straddled on top of him—fuck, fuck, he was still here, he was still _here—_ and now Lev’s hands were splayed across his chest. Like they would have been, if this had been in any way normal. 

But it wasn’t, and his partner looked totally gone. Was it the kind where Lev woke up and didn't know what had happened? Or the kind where he floated somewhere outside his body, still watching from afar? Graham had no way of knowing for sure.

He could have taken any kind of small solace in his partner’s warmth, if his brain wasn’t drowning in the thought of _please, dear god, don’t rape him on top of me_.

As if reading his mind, Martin yanked his head back, forcing Graham to look into his eyes. The deep blue that he looked into were stern, almost scolding.

“I’m going to use your mouth—”

“ _Fuck you_ —”

Martin bared his teeth in a wild grin. “You want to hear me, Pierce," he cautioned, dragging Lev forward with one finger hooked underneath the collar. "You want to listen very fucking closely, because if you don’t, then Murphy, Layton, Davies and Mackenzie-Smith get to have at my little fucktoy. I’m going to use your mouth, and if I feel one hint of teeth, then they have my full permission to fuck him, right here, right now. Do you understand me?”

Graham let out a shaky wheeze of a breath, throat and chest constricting with the horror of that threat, the gruesome image of it that his brain threw up, and the utter mindless fear of the current moment. He pulled on the restraints again in his panic.

“Great, so that’s a no—”

“Yes,” Graham cut him off with a hissed reply, relenting. "Yes," he repeated, in case the first time hadn't been enough.

"Yes _what_."

Despite the liquor, and the water… despite everything, his mouth was still dry. "I understand."

If the man wanted it to happen, it would happen, but he couldn’t be the reason. Couldn’t live with himself, if he gave them a reason. Not like this.

The hand uncurled from his hair. “Good man.” A rough pat on the cheek, and the sound of a zipper being pulled open. The scent of salt and musk invaded Graham’s senses, battering against them. 

But this was nothing. His partner had suffered all of these things, and worse, again, and again. He himself had just been waterboarded. This was just a fuck. This was nothing. 

And yet, Graham was so, so scared.

A hand on the back of his neck, and Martin was pressing forward. The tip of the man's dick bumped against his lips, parting them to smear across the front of his teeth, his gums, but his mouth wouldn't open. His body wouldn't let him move.

Martin pinched Graham's cheeks in warning. "What did I just say."

Slowly, Graham pried his own jaw from itself, and Martin was pushing inside.

Every thrust made him gag, and the urge to bite down filled every cell of his body, unifying them against the intruder. Graham had to fight with every ounce of strength he had left not to do so, had to violently push away the strong, strong temptation, and the thought that if he bit down hard enough, he might have been able to sever the offending appendage so that it could never hurt his partner again.

But no—the best thing he could do was lie back. Survive. This was nothing. 

At least Martin was mercifully silent. And at least he didn't taste of much, except skin.

A wolf-whistle. "Slut Pierce, what a look," said Mackenzie-Smith. Graham couldn't see anything except Martin's pelvis and pubic hair— _don't bite down, don't bite down, don't bite down_ —but he could hear the other voices as they mocked him. "Stupid fucking bitch-ass slut, with your collared whore boyfriend."

"Bet he looks real pretty bending over for you.”

“Nah, bitch-boy here definitely takes it up the ass. Useless fuck.”

“Mouth good?”

“Decent,” and a grunt. “Not as good as my _collared whore_.” Laughter all around.

It was only when he was grabbed that Graham realised he was half-hard. Viagra. He couldn't tell who owned the hand around the base of his cock, and had no more time to wonder before it was enveloped by wet heat.

Not a hand. Not a mouth.

"There you go. Wouldn't want the whore missing out on the fun, would we?"

Graham couldn't tell whether it was because of Martin repeatedly hitting the back of his throat, or the rustling of someone now lining up between his legs, or the knowledge that his own cock was now _inside of Lev_ and that this was the closest they'd been for months, might ever be again—but he couldn't stop them. The tears started to fall. 

Lev had slid down easily, as if prepared. The thought broke him. 

Worse, far worse, was the memory that he’d promised never to have sex with him when he was like this. Or if they were already, to stop immediately if he noticed signs of Lev checking out.

He knew he had no control here, wasn’t to blame.

But that promise. That promise had been sacred.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Murphy breathed. “He crying already? _Damn_ that’s good.”

Martin pulled out and finished across his face with a groan, splattering cum across his nose and cheeks, his lips. Graham turned to get a glimpse of Lev riding him, before his face was pushed to the side again and Murphy was taking his _turn._

Despite the earlier promise to fuck him dry, whoever it was at his ass still prepped him, however harshly. Slick fingers scissoring him open, and it _hurt_ , but he could barely focus beyond the jingle of what he knew as the metal ring of the collar. 

_Five things you can see, yeah?_ Another echo. Another lifetime.

He knew the men were talking over them both again, Martin’s sweeping timbre in amongst the rest, but for the most part, it was just white noise.

_Four things you can feel._

The one in his mouth. The one pressing into his ass. They were nothing. Just pain. Just white noise, and the _clink, clink, clink_ of the collar. 

_Can you hear me? Please, love._

By the time the last man pulled out—he didnt know who it was anymore, he didn't give a fuck—Graham was dead-tired. From fighting against himself, from the four cocks down his throat, and the three in his ass. More than there had been people in the room. 

_Don’t leave me here alone._

His body ached all over. There was a deep, deep pain in his pelvis, from when something had likely torn inside of him. 

But that was nothing.

He still cried when Lev was taken away.

-

“I think they… they…"

Niels whispered in half-words. “Maybe it was just a nightmare.”

Lev shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t tell what’s real anymore...”

“I know.”

“N-not, don’t want them to hurt him—”

“I know.”

“I don’t know… he was crying… but I didn’t do anything...”

“Hey… hey,” Niels whispered, rocking Lev back and forth in his arms. “It was just a dream. Just a dream.”

And if he repeated it often enough, maybe it would become true.


End file.
